Wandwork
by Gmariam
Summary: The remarkable story behind Griselda Marchbanks' enigmatic reference to all those things Albus Dumbledore could do with a wand.


**Author's Notes:  
**Rating is for suggestive (very) content only. Have fun using your imagination. ;)

* * *

Wandwork

_"Examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did N.E.W.T.s…Did things with a wand I'd never seen before." _~Griselda Marchbanks

Griselda Marchbanks sighed dramatically as she wondered yet again just what had possessed her to take a job with the Wizarding Examinations Authority. She had only been on the actual examination committee for three years and already she was disillusioned. It was hard work, even if it was only for a few months of the year, and the students certainly did not seem to appreciate their efforts. She had already started to see a difference from when she was in school: a mere ten years previous had seen students study hard and work harder, and treat the examination committee with respect. The young people she had tested this week seemed nothing but arrogant and lazy.

Well, all except Albus Dumbledore, of course. Everyone was talking about him: the best student Hogwarts had ever seen, and about to post straight Outstandings on thirteen N.E.W.T.s. That hadn't been done since Wendelin the Weird had accomplished such a feat over six hundred years ago, only to spend the rest of her life being burned at the stake over and over simply because she enjoyed the tickle of the Flame-Freezing Charm.

Griselda had already tested Dumbledore in Transfiguration and found him superior to anyone she had tested yet. She was looking forward to his Charms practical, as he was a rather handsome young man, one of the most polite students at the school, and extremely witty as well as exceedingly clever. She wondered why he wasn't a Ravenclaw, like her, but then he held his Gryffindor shoulders so straight and tall that she had little doubt there was much courage there.

The Great Hall had been cleared and each examiner had their own small area for students to cast their practical Charms spells, set with a table and chairs and any materials they might need for their spellcasting. An old witch sat near the front of the hall in a comfortable chair, clutching the list of students to be tested. Hilda had retired from actual examination duty after being Transfigured into a toad too many times by seventh-years trying to show off their skills. Now she enjoyed her perch at the top of the hall, where she still had the disconcerting habit of flicking her tongue at passing students.

With a rush, the fifth-years arrived, quiet and nervous. They were always better behaved than the older students, not knowing what to expect and likely having been told horror stories by the ones who had been through O.W.L.s already. Griselda didn't mind testing them as much as the seventh-years: they were the ones who had given her nothing but a difficult time this week, and she didn't appreciate it one bit. She needed a break.

The morning passed quickly, the Great Hall was set up for lunch, and once again cleared for the seventh-years. Although not looking forward to the long afternoon ahead of her, Griselda couldn't help but crane her neck in search of Albus Dumbledore. Ah, there he was, right behind a small young man named-what was it? Dog, Dogi? Something like that. She had tested him in Divination and he had done well, but Griselda didn't bother thinking about him beyond that: she was drawn instantly to Albus Dumbledore.

He was obviously feeling confident and relaxed. Well, he had been the same when she had tested him at Transfiguration, and he had practically left her speechless. Oh, to try him at Defense Against the Dark Arts. She would love to see him parry spells, see what he might cast back. Yet that was not today, and she would have to be content with whatever he might manage with his wand in Charms. He was likely equally gifted, given the things she had already seen.

He was dressed in bright and cheerful yellow robes, accented tastefully with red and black. His dark hair was pulled back to a neat knot at the nape of his neck, his sharp eyes gazing about with merry interest. And his lips…his lips were…

Griselda shook her head. She should _not_be having such thoughts about one of her examinees. And yet…there was something so attractive, so appealing about his demeanor: the relaxed confidence, the polite respect, the incredible intellect, the dry wit…she found herself wishing she were younger, or he older, so they might truly cross wands outside of the castle.

She made sure he would be coming to her. A simple wave of her wand, and old Hilda sent him her way as soon as she had read his name. Griselda felt her pulse quicken in anticipation. She tried to quell her racing heart, but he had been so remarkable on the Transfiguration exam earlier in the week that she was looking forward to his Charms practical more than she probably should. She tucked a stray black hair back into the far too severe bun she wore, wishing she had left it down instead.

"Good afternoon, Madam Marchbanks," Dumbledore offered as he approached. "How are you this afternoon?" He offered a polite tilt of his head and an open smile; she couldn't help but smile back. He was certainly the most polished of all the students, with refined manners _and_exceptional wand skills.

"I am quite well, Mr. Dumbledore," she returned warmly, licking her lips as they were suddenly, strangely dry. "But I asked you not to call me Madam, as I have not been with the Wizarding Examinations Authority long enough to have earned that title."

"I'm sure you will in no time, Miss Marchbanks," he returned with aplomb. She felt a giddy warmth at his words, a pleasant rush of happiness that he would have such confidence in her when he hardly knew her. He was right, of course: she was already the youngest examiner in over two hundred years, and she had little doubt that she would be running the department within a few years.

"Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore," she replied, trying not to appear flustered. She was almost ten years older than this boy, this man, and yet he appeared so much older than his seventeen-no, almost eighteen-years that she felt like a schoolgirl again. She cleared her throat, ignoring the thumping in her chest. "Shall we begin?"

He took out his wand and nodded. She remembered it well: cypress, thirteen inches, springy with a dragon heartstring core. Oh yes, she remembered it, tenderly Transfiguring sticks into stones and turtles into teacups. Oh no, it had never occurred to her what else that wand might Transfigure…

Forcing herself to glance down at the parchment before her, Griselda took a deep breath to focus on the task at hand. She called for the first spell on the list. "Hover Charm, please."

There was a table containing several items next to them; he barely waved his wand at the large book placed there, and it rose effortlessly into the air.

"More, please," she said, watching his wand, his hand, the way his fingers wrapped around the delicate wood. The other objects on the table rose, then the table itself.

"More, please" she repeated, knowing it was quite enough, but unable to resist asking, knowing he was capable of so much more. She forced herself to look away from his wand and into his sharp blue eyes. It was a mistake; she hoped her knees didn't give out.

Fortunately she did not have to worry about it, for she rose into the air with a soft squeak, her legs complete jelly beneath her as her stomach did a small flip. And then _Sweet Merlin _he floated up before her. "Will that be enough?" he asked. "Or shall I set us tea on the table?"

"No, Mr. Dumbledore," she replied, then cleared her throat as her voice came out a hoarse whisper. "I mean, yes, you may stop showing off now."

He lowered her gently, so that she barely felt herself land before him on the cold stone floor of the Great Hall. "Cushioning Charm noted," she managed to croak as she scribbled mindlessly on her parchment. She tried not to think of him lowering her gently to her bed with that charm; her face flushed as she failed, the heat rising in her face. She called for the next spell on the list, the irony burning.

"Freezing Charm, please-stop on page 69." She waved her wand at the book on the table, sending its pages flipping; he stopped it before she had even lowered her wand, again without a word. Clearly he had mastered non-verbal spells, both a practical and attractive skill. When she walked over to the table and found page 69 facing up, she tried not to consider what else he might do with such silent speed and accuracy, but moved on without thinking, her body almost tingling with anticipation.

"Engorgement Charm." She couldn't help the next spell that came out of her mouth-it was next on the list, after all-and almost groaned as soon as it did. Her abdomen had that wonderfully tight feeling now, like the kind she had whenever she read one of the popular Muggle romances of the day, and just thinking of an Engorgement Charm set it to fluttering.

Dumbledore glanced around, as if unsure what to use other than the simple props on the table. Fortunately, she remembered the rabbit in the basic at her feet, there for exactly this purpose, poor thing; within seconds it grew until it was the size of a small dog.

"Larger, please," she whispered. He raised his eyebrows, and the rabbit grew into the size of a small wolf. She watched the muscles in his wrist twist and turn with each delicate wand motion, her pulse racing as the tight feeling in her belly grew into a throb.

"Larger." And yet she wasn't thinking of his wrist, nor the rabbit as big as a horse wearing a bonnet before her. No, she was thinking of much better ways to apply such a wonderful, delicious charm…

"Marchbanks!" barked Hilda from the other side of the hall, and she snapped out of it with a gasp. So close-so very close.

"Sorry, Madam," she replied, then waved her wand at the horse-sized rabbit and placed the normal-sized mammal back in her basket. Just two more spells-he would clearly pass the exam, but what else could he do? She decided to test him, for her own interest of mind…or was it her own pleasure?

"Silencing Charm," she ordered. He waved his wand and the hall went silent. Dozens of heads turned toward them, each face equally irritated. She waved her wand and restored sound to the hall, her breath quickening.

"Summoning Charm." He flicked his wrist and within seconds a large purple flower from the front steps zoomed into the hall, and he presented it to her with a gallant bow. How was he capable of doing such things? With his wand, to her?

"Shield Charm," she decided, hoping to catch him unaware and wipe the unclean thoughts from her mind with his failure; never mind that it wasn't on her list. Yet his shield was up before she could even cast a simple Stinging Hex, and it was deflected cleanly, only to head toward an unsuspecting seventh-year nearby. He threw up a second shield even as she turned toward the student in question, and she thought she might faint right there: oh, how she wanted to duel him, match him stroke for stroke…

"Stick to the list, Marchbanks!" Hilda barked from the front. "Shield Charms are for Defense exams, not this one."

Griselda swore under her breath and tried to calm her racing heart. She felt like she was going to explode, and he had not even touched her once. He had barely uttered a single word, even. Glancing down at her parchment, she decided to finish the exam before things went too far.

"Disillusionment Charm, please, Mr. Dumbledore." She hoped her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

He disappeared, and she couldn't help but gasp at the beauty of it. She had never seen such a profound, perfect Disillusionment Charm. He was completely invisible, undetectable; he could come and go and he pleased, see and do what he wanted, touch and caress and kiss unseen…

"_Finite Incantatem_!" she gasped, and he reappeared before her. One more, just one more. It was not expected of seventh-years, but surely Albus Dumbledore could do it. He had obviously mastered everything else. She stepped closer, her hands actually shaking as she lowered her voice; she had to know.

"Can you cast a Patronus Charm, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"I can, Miss Marchbanks," he returned, just as softly, as if they were sharing an intimate secret. "Would you like me to demonstrate?" She could not meet his eyes, but merely nodded wordlessly as she stepped back, holding her breath.

This time she heard him murmur under his breath. But it was worth it, for a glorious silver bird burst from the tip of his wand and hovered before her. Wings spread wide, it was beautiful, and she recognized it almost instantly.

"A phoenix," she breathed, and staggered slightly as all the tension within her burst forth just strongly as the silver bird, sending a rush of heat all the way to the tips of her ears, and a powerful release down to her toes. Dumbledore actually reached out to steady her, but she held up her hand, waiting it out, then straightened herself. It was then she noticed the entire hall had once again turned toward them, equally as stunned.

"Remarkable. Truly remarkable," she murmured, pretending to scribble something on her parchment, when in reality the rush of feeling still flowing through her body was suddenly giving her a rash idea. She stepped closer once more.

"Perhaps you could show me more of your wandwork later, Mr. Dumbledore?" she whispered. She was both embarrassed and emboldened, both dreading his answer and desperately hoping he would say yes. He was not even out of school, and yet his spells were like nothing she had ever seen, and she had to see more.

"Might I ask if my marks are dependant upon such a meeting?" asked Albus. The merry twinkle had gone from his eyes; he looked more concerned than offended. Griselda was suddenly horrified: did he think she was asking favors to curry advanced marks? Goodness, he had earned every one and more, ten times over! Working up the courage, she stepped closer and titled her head, batting her eyelashes coyly as she said one of the boldest things she'd ever said in her entire life.

"No, Mr. Dumbledore. Rest assured, you have already earned a very solid O."

His eyes widened for the briefest of moments in surprise before he nodded; she hoped he understood her meaning. Surely a young man of his taste and talent was experienced as well?

"Then I am glad to have been both successful and of service," he murmured. She wasn't sure if he quite winked, but he might have. She was fairly certain the answer was no, however, and she tried not to sound embarrassed as she backed away and forced a smile.

"You have indeed, Mr. Dumbledore," she said. "Perhaps another time. Your exam is over. You have done exceptionally well."

He bowed politely. "Thank you. I enjoyed working with you. I hope you have a pleasant journey back to London, Miss Marchbanks." He turned and left the hall, and she couldn't help but follow his retreat before shaking herself out of useless daydreams and turning for a glass of water.

"I think I've already had the pleasure," she murmured. She took a deep breath to compose herself; she still had the rest of the seventh-year to work through, after all. She had been dreading it after a long, difficult week, but perhaps N.E.W.T.s were not so bad after all.

At least when it came to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and his remarkable wand.

**End Notes:  
**It's all Soraya's fault. She dared me. And Jaime's too. She helped.  
Lea says Dumbledore's thirteenth N.E.W.T was in bada**ery, but I'm thinking it was probably an extra-credit type thing in languages.  
Hope you had fun. :)


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